I wasn’t expecting anyone that evening, so when I opened the door and saw two

As the officers entered, the air in our home felt impossibly heavy, as if the walls themselves were closing in. Emma clung to me, her small frame racked with sobs, and I could feel her fear like a tangible weight pressing down on my chest. I led the officers into the living room, where the remnants of our dinner still sat on the table. It was surreal, this juxtaposition of mundane normalcy and the chaos beginning to unfold.

The officers took seats across from us, their expressions a blend of professionalism and compassion. The younger one, who introduced himself as Officer Harris, spoke gently, “Mrs. Collins, we need to understand what Emma saw last night. It’s important for everyone’s safety.”

Emma’s grip on my hand tightened. “I heard noises from the garage,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “I thought it was raccoons again, but when I looked out my window, I saw Dad. He was… he was dragging something.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and ominous. My mind raced, trying to reconcile the image of Daniel, my husband of fifteen years, with the horror Emma described. He was the man who read bedtime stories to Emma, who laughed at my terrible jokes, who volunteered at the local clinic on weekends.

“You’re sure it was him?” I asked, desperation creeping into my voice.

Emma nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I saw his face when he looked up. And… and there was something on his hands, something dark.”

My world spun. Could there be an explanation? Some mistake or hallucination? But deep down, in the part of me that mothers always want to trust, I knew Emma wasn’t lying. Her fear was too real, too visceral.

Officer Harris leaned forward. “Mrs. Collins, do you know where your husband is right now?”

“Seattle,” I replied, though uncertainty wove through my words like a thread. “He left yesterday for a conference. He’s supposed to be there until Friday.”

The officers exchanged glances, communicating in that silent way colleagues often do. “We’ll need to check the garage, if that’s alright,” Officer Harris said.

Numbly, I nodded, leading them to the door that opened to the garage. The room was dark, the shadows deep and foreboding. My fingers fumbled for the light switch, and when the fluorescent lights flickered on, they illuminated a scene that stole the breath from my lungs.

There, in the corner, was a large tarp. It was crumpled, as if hastily thrown over something. I moved toward it, but Officer Harris held up a hand, stopping me. “Please, let us handle this.”

They approached the tarp with cautious steps, and as they lifted it, I caught a glimpse of what lay beneath—a pile of rags, stained with something dark and sticky. My heart seized. It was blood. Real, undeniable, and damning.

The older officer, whose name I hadn’t caught, turned to me, his expression grave. “Mrs. Collins, I’m afraid we’ll need to take you and Emma somewhere safe while we investigate further.”

The word “safe” felt foreign, alien in my ears. What did it mean anymore?

I gathered Emma in my arms, her sobs softening to hiccups as I held her close. The officers stepped away to make their calls, leaving us in a bubble of solitude amidst the chaos.

The life I knew was unraveling, each thread plucked by the cold hand of reality. As we waited, surrounded by the detritus of our shattered world, I couldn’t help but wonder—who was the man I married? And what kind of life had we truly been living?